In Dreams
by slyprentice
Summary: [NBC'S Dracula] It is with the greatest of ironies that Lucy accepts that all of her fantasies must start with Jonathan Harker. One-sided Lucy/Mina.


**Title: **In Dreams**  
Author:** Prentice  
**Rating**: Mature  
**Fandom**: Dracula (TV)  
**Pairing**: Lucy/Mina (one-sided relationship)  
**Warning**: _This story is about a female/female relationship. If that offends you or you can't handle your response to it maturely then I would hit the back button now. _  
**Notes**: _This is the first part of a series I'm calling the 'Pretend 'Verse'. It focuses solely on Lucy and Mina, their relationship, and Lucy's (currently) one-sided attraction to Mina over the years.  
_

**Summary**: It is with the greatest of ironies that Lucy accepts that all of her fantasies must start with Jonathan Harker.

* * *

It is with the greatest of ironies that Lucy accepts that all of her fantasies must start with Jonathan Harker. They have no choice but to start with him, for anything to do with Mina either starts or stops with the man these days. It makes perfect sense, of course; Jonathan is Mina's – well, not fiancé, but something close enough to it that no one, not even Lucy herself, can deny it.

This is not to say that Lucy doesn't try to pretend otherwise, frequently, repeatedly, and vigorously. Regularly enough that her heart sometimes aches with the knowledge that, whatever she may pretend, it will never come to pass; that whatever her heart, mind, and body may cry out for, it will never be true or be what she wants it to be. Even so, it doesn't stop her from pretending.

It's unkind of her, she knows – cruel, even, if painted in the right light by the right artist – but she's always been something of a selfish creature, one who yearns to take and to touch the things that she's not even supposed to acknowledge much less covet. She _knows_ this – her life, for all of its fun and finery, has been laid out for her since the moment she was born – but she does it nevertheless. Pretends and imagines, imagines and pretends, mostly in the dark hours of the night where no one can know about it.

Not even dear sweet Mina, who sometimes lies next to her, lovely face softened into a childlike peaceful sleep that Lucy has never been able to attain. It is a – sweet torture – to have that. To have dearest Mina next to her, not quite complicit in her deviance but close enough to touch, close enough to kiss, if she were ever brave enough.

She isn't, of course.

Not in real life, where so much can be lost. Like her heart and her pride. Like her best friend's companionship and the closeness they have shared over the years. The soft quiet secrets they have whispered to each other in the dark, cocooned in Lucy's blankets and safe behind closed doors.

But – in her dreams – in her fantasies – she _is_ that brave. Braver, even, because she doesn't just take what she wants, she fights for it. With the courage of a lion, the tenacity of a soldier, and the heart of a poet whose verses have not yet graced the ear of the lady they love.

She is all of those things and more in her fantasies. The ones she has that start with Jonathan. Poor, sweet, pigheaded Jonathan who has no idea what a treasure he has waiting for him, too concerned with his own heart, his own mind, and his own bloody career. Just like a man, any man, who Lucy has ever met.

Poor as a church mouse or rich as a King, they are all the same. Not like women. Not like Lucy, who might be selfish and who might be vain, but who wants nothing but Mina's happiness in all things. Be it at her college, where she shines like a star in her lectures, or in Lucy's bed, languid with sleep and happiness and, in Lucy's better dreams, delicious satisfaction.

And Lucy knows, deep in her heart, there would be all of that in her bed, _their_ bed. Satisfaction and laughter, love and tenderness, adventure and the unknown, all explored together like naughty children in the dark. In the day, even, because she wants Mina at all times. Before and after her classes, during teatimes and luncheons, and in the secret hours where the house is quiet and still, the servants preoccupied with their duties, her mother out visiting, and their time is their own.

She can imagine it – _has_ imagined it – and it's delightful every time.

The way Mina comes to her, perhaps a bit heartbroken or heartsick from Jonathan, stupid silly Jonathan, and Lucy will hold her close, fingers tangling in Mina's wonderful mane of curls, stroking and petting her friend into calmness. Promising to keep Jonathan at bay, to tell the servants that they aren't to allow him admittance, and wipe him from her mind with fun and frivolity. With a glorious day spent shopping, perhaps, or with a dinner out at a restaurant that is as beautiful as it is overwhelming, and then have a few hours at the theatre or a party.

Somewhere that they can dance and be merry; lose themselves in easy company and flowing conversation, laughing and giggling as champagne and wine and sweet cakes mix inside their bellies and make them feel light and bubbly and alive. Then, and only then, will Lucy draw them home, both of them giggling as they make their way into the carriage, dresses and ribbons flowing together in a pretty tangle as they bump and jostle their way to Lucy's front door.

There will be more laughter there, with Lucy fumbling the key and the both of them stumbling inside when the door is finally opened. From there is a whirlwind of laughter and smiles as they make their way upstairs, declining the offers of help from a passing maid, and then tumbling inside of Lucy's bedroom, door closing behind them with a thump, and then both of them falling onto the bed, ribbons and gloves and handbags discarded.

Both of them will be, perhaps, a little breathless, their stomachs aching from so much good fun and laughter, and only the soft glow of lanterns filling the darkness between them, and, perhaps again, Mina will turn her face towards Lucy, smile wide with affection, and Lucy will reach out, fingers brushing a curl from Mina's forehead. Only, her fingers will linger there, fingertips soft as butterfly wings as they trace along the side of Mina's face, grinning when Mina giggles, her eyelids fluttering closed as Lucy touches her with soft careful hands.

There will be no hurry, no mad rush, as Lucy pets and strokes Mina's face, fingertips ghosting on chin and cheeks, nose and forehead; the lovely indent above her mouth and her lips. They're silky and soft, Lucy imagines, like the petals from a rose, and she traces her fingers against them, waiting until Mina's eyes open, dark like a storm in the low light, before moving slowly forward, body trembling as she presses her own lips to Mina's. Gentle and slow, it'll be a whisper of a kiss, a light little question that only Mina can answer, and Lucy will wait, breathless and still, the warm gust of Mina's breath curling against her mouth, as her friend tries to decide what her answer will be.

In her dreams, her deepest desires, the answer is always the same. It is the one safe harbor that Lucy allows herself in these moments, never changing it for fear of something vitally important being lost somewhere in translation. The answer is, of course, simple; not at all like those scandalous novels that tell of breathless whispers or shy little nods.

Instead, it is effortless and sweet, with lovely pale skinned Mina looking at Lucy with the answer in her eyes, a pretty blush staining her cheeks as she shivers in unfamiliar anticipation. From that point, it is different every time. Sometimes it is slow, with Lucy giving Mina soft tender kisses, her fingers trailing through Mina's hair, down the side of her face to her neck, the heel of her palm brushing suggestively against the swell of Mina's bosom.

Other times, it is faster, with tender kisses that melt into a blur of heated lips and tongues, and Lucy and Mina pulling at each other's buttons and stays until they are in nothing but their undergarments. She suckles on one of Mina's nipples through her chemise, the white fabric growing wet and see-through as she tongues the little nub into a tight straining pebble. She almost always pulls back then, blowing on the damp fabric so it cools and Mina whimpers and squirms beneath her, back arching as her nipple pebbles further.

And other times still, in the dark hours when she is able to touch herself in desperate familiar strokes, fingers dipping inside her own wet folds in needy hunger, it is faster still, with the beginning of her fantasy blurring out until she is imagining herself only between Mina's thighs. Lips and tongue working her best friend into a deliciously noisy frenzy, Mina's legs and body moving restlessly as Lucy holds her down and wiggles her fingers knowingly, her own body shaky with need. Or, perhaps even the reverse, with Mina's head between her thighs, Lucy's fingers buried in her thick disarrayed curls as she guides dear Mina's mouth to all the places she likes, rough noises of breathless encouragement tumbling from her lips.

There are other times too, where she imagines herself guiding Mina into all those positions she's learned about over the years. Not always by practice, of course, but by study nonetheless. From books and from pamphlets that she hides in her room, far away from prying eyes, that she can't help but look at again and again, imagining and wondering what it might feel like to have Mina in that position or _that_ position, with their wet folds touching, grinding against one another.

It would be – it _is_ – an impossibility she knows. It will never happen, not in real life, but still she imagines it and still she hopes in the late hours of the night, when Mina is next to her and the bittersweet press of her body makes Lucy ache, her heart throbbing inside her chest, that it might, by some miracle, one day happen. That by some chance, some small shriveled possibility, that Mina will one day realize that Lucy is everything that Jonathan is not and that they can and could, perhaps, make a life together.

Somehow.

_**END **_


End file.
